34. Rowan
34
ROWAN
“This is going to hurt like a motherfucker,” Evie warns, grinning at me from the plush chair beside mine. “But trust me, when all three of them see how smooth you are down there, the pain will be worth it.”
I shoot her a nervous glance, already reconsidering this whole spa day idea. When Brick suggested I “take some time for myself” before tonight, I hadn’t expected him to arrange a full day of pampering at Wolf Pike’s newest luxury spa—Cross Relaxation, owned by Evie’s three husbands. And I definitely hadn’t expected to be joined by Evie herself—and Ayla, the other woman in town with three partners.
“She’s right,” Ayla confirms, flipping through a magazine while her toenails dry. “First time Teller saw me after a full Brazilian, I swear he almost had a heart attack. Clay couldn’t even form sentences.”
“And Kip?” I can’t help asking.
Ayla’s smile turns wicked. “Let’s just say he showed his appreciation extensively. With his tongue.”
Heat floods my face. I’ve only met these women a few times at the diner and racetracks, and here they are, casually discussing their sex lives like we’re old friends. But there’s something comforting in their easy acceptance of my unusual situation. In Wolf Pike, apparently, having three men is practically normal—Tom warned me of this weeks ago.
“I still can’t believe this is happening,” I admit, accepting the champagne flute the attendant offers. “A month ago, I was searching for a fresh start, and now I’m getting waxed for a night with three brothers.”
“Wolf Pike has a way of giving people what they didn’t know they needed,” Evie says sagely. Then she cackles. “And in your case, that’s three cocks instead of one!”
I nearly choke on my champagne.
“Dammit, Evie,” Ayla scolds, but she’s laughing too. “Let the poor girl breathe before you kill her.”
“Oh please.” Evie waves a hand dismissively. “If she can’t handle talking about it, how will she handle taking all three of them?”
Another wave of heat—half embarrassment, half anticipation—washes over me. “Is that even…I mean, can you actually…?”
The two women exchange knowing looks.
“Depends,” Ayla says carefully. “There are ways. If you’re comfortable.”
“First time, probably not all at once,” Evie adds matter-of-factly. “But there are plenty of combinations that work beautifully.”
Before I can ask for clarification, a spa attendant appears at the doorway. “Ms. Callahan? We’re ready for your waxing.”
I drain my champagne in one gulp. “Wish me luck.”
“Remember,” Evie calls after me, “beauty is pain, but multiple orgasms are forever!”
The waxing room is warm and dimly lit, with soothing music that does absolutely nothing to calm my nerves. The technician, a woman named Maya with more tattoos than bare skin, instructs me to undress from the waist down and lie on the table.
“First Brazilian?” she asks, noting my hesitation.
“That obvious?”
She smiles kindly. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk you through it.”
What follows is thirty minutes of the most excruciating yet oddly empowering experience of my life. Maya chatters about town gossip, occasionally instructing me to “breathe” or “relax” before ripping another strip of molten lava from the most sensitive parts of my body.
“Motherfucking son of a—” I gasp after a particularly painful pull.
“That’s the spirit,” Maya laughs. “Get it all out now. Because trust me, from what I hear about those Kane brothers, you’ll be doing a different kind of screaming tonight.”
I prop myself up on my elbows. “Does everyone in this town know about my personal life?”
“Small town, honey. Plus, I’m married to Teller’s cousin. MC gossip travels fast.” She applies more wax. “Now lie back and think of England. Or in your case, three very hot mechanics.”
By the time it’s over, I’m sweating and possibly have permanent indentations in my palms from clenching my fists, but the result is undeniably impressive. I feel strangely vulnerable and powerful all at once.
“One more thing before you go,” Maya says as I gingerly pull my robe back on. “Would you be interested in getting a tattoo?”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Hmm…I haven’t thought about it.”
She hands me a business card. “My other studio is next door. I’ve got an opening in an hour if you want it.”
I stare at the card, an idea forming. “Actually, yes. But I need to design it first.”
After my waxing torture, I rejoin Evie and Ayla for the next phase—massages, facials, and hair styling. With each treatment, I feel layers of tension and fear melting away. For months, I’ve been looking over my shoulder, waiting for Dad to find me. But right now, surrounded by these women who’ve created extraordinary lives for themselves, I decide I’m done letting fear rule me.
If Dad finds me, I’ll deal with it then. But today—tonight—is mine to claim.
“So,” Ayla says as we relax in the sauna, “let’s talk more about tonight.”
Evie rolls her eyes.
“I’m terrified,” I admit. “But also excited. I’ve been with each of them separately, but all together? That’s…new territory.”
“Communication is key,” Evie offers, unexpectedly serious. “If something doesn’t feel right, speak up. Those boys will worship the ground you walk on if you let them, but they need guidance.”
“And lube,” Ayla adds pragmatically. “Lots of lube.”
I laugh despite myself. “Noted.”
“The first time with all my guys,” Evie continues, “I was so nervous I almost backed out. But Chase just looked at me and said, ‘We’ve got all night. We’ll go at your pace.’” She smiles at the memory. “It was…transcendent.”
“Same with my boys.” Ayla nods. “There’s something about being the center of all that attention, all that desire. It’s powerful.”
“But what if I can’t…satisfy all of them?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
Both women burst out laughing.
“Oh, honey,” Evie gasps between giggles. “Trust me, that is not going to be a problem.”
“Besides,” Ayla adds with a smirk, “they have each other to pick up any slack. Not that there will be any.”
“They have each—wait, what?” My brain stutters over the implication.
Evie and Ayla exchange another one of those looks.
“Let’s just say,” Evie says carefully, “that in these arrangements, sometimes the boundaries between everyone get…fluid.”
My mouth forms a silent O as understanding dawns.
“Only if everyone’s comfortable,” Ayla adds quickly. “But it can be…extremely hot to watch.”
The mental image that forms sends a jolt of unexpected heat through me. These women are blowing my mind with possibilities I’d never even considered.
After the sauna, I excuse myself for my tattoo appointment, an idea solidified in my mind. Maya seems surprised by my design—simple but meaningful—and even more surprised by my chosen location.
“You sure about this placement?” she asks. “It’s gonna hurt.”
“I’m sure,” I tell her, no hesitation. This small act of permanence feels like reclaiming my body after years of my father trying to control it.
The pain is sharp but cleansing, nothing compared to what I’ve endured before. When it’s done, I study the small, elegant design in the mirror. Three initials—B, M, R—intertwined in a delicate pattern, placed on the sensitive skin just below my hip bone, low enough to be hidden by underwear but easily revealed in intimate moments.
“They’re going to lose their minds,” Maya assures me, applying the protective covering.
Hours later, I stand before the full-length mirror in the spa’s dressing room, barely recognizing myself. My dark hair falls in glossy waves past my shoulders. My skin glows from the treatments. The subtle makeup enhances rather than conceals. The new dress Evie insisted I buy hugs every curve, the deep green fabric bringing out the gold flecks in my eyes.
“Holy shit,” Ayla breathes, coming to stand beside me. “You look incredible.”
“The Kane brothers aren’t going to know what hit them,” Evie agrees, joining us in the mirror.
For the first time in months—maybe years—I don’t see a runaway, a victim, or the future Vipers president my father tried to create. I see a woman who knows what she wants and is finally brave enough to claim it.
“Ready?” Evie asks, grabbing her keys.
I touch the tender spot where my new tattoo lies hidden beneath my dress. A secret promise to three men who’ve somehow become everything to me.
“Ready,” I confirm, and I’ve never meant anything more.